


The Only Thing To Say

by incogneat_oh



Series: That One Hug Meme [10]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fill, character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: Damian hates the beep-bip of the heart monitor. He thinks, objectively, it should be comforting. The same way that resting your head on someone’s chest and hearing their heartbeat is comforting. But this is a hateful sound, irritating and upsetting at the same time.A constant reminder that Grayson’s heart had almost stopped beating, for good."Hurt/comfort" and "clinging" for thehug meme.





	The Only Thing To Say

—

Damian hates the  _beep-bip_  of the heart monitor. He thinks, objectively, it should be comforting. The same way that resting your head on someone’s chest and hearing their heartbeat is comforting. But this is a hateful sound, irritating and upsetting at the same time. 

A constant reminder that Grayson’s heart had almost  _stopped_  beating, for good.

_Beep-bip._

But his hands are steady. One is gripping Grayson’s clammy wrist, (mindful of the cannula at the inside of his elbow), feeling the faint pulse beneath his fingertips. The other… is busy. And it’s taking a lot of his attention, actually, for so stupid, so  _mundane_ a task. 

He had chosen a sort-of plum colour. Rich, and dark, with a very faint sheen of glitter. 

It’s a nice nail polish. And it looks slightly ridiculous on Grayson’s blocky, calloused fingers. But Damian is doing a very neat job of it, even though he’s only two fingers in. 

If the man was  _awake_ , Damian is sure he would be making terrible, borderline-offensive jokes about how Damian is more suited to work in a salon than as a vigilante. And _if_ he was awake, Damian would roll his eyes and click his tongue, and say that it doesn’t matter, because  _anyone_ is more suited to vigilantism than Grayson himself.

His hands  _aren’t_ shaking. But it isn’t until he blinks that he realises his eyes are blurred by tears. It’s interfering with his ability to paint the man’s fingernails.

He hears a footstep behind him, on the Cave floor, and knows Father’s eyes have been on him awhile. Before the man can speak, he croaks, without turning “Don’t– don’t make me stop, I am following  _his_ stupid rule–”

But it’s Drake who says quietly, “I just wondered if you wanted me to take over for a bit.”

“I–” Damian says. Blinking hurriedly to clear his gaze before he can turn.

And very gently, Drake reaches around him to take the nail polish cap, and screw it carefully back onto the bottle. 

There’s only room for one chair, beside Grayson’s prone form on the cot. So Damian assumes Drake wishes to use it, when he’s half-shooed, half-coaxed to stand. 

But when he turns, eyes still brimming pathetically (a fact he can’t hide, no matter how far he ducks his head), he– stops.

Drake looks exhausted; he’d left to clean up in the showers, and the Cave still smells very faintly of steam. He’s wearing a pair of worn grey sweats, and.  _Grayson’s shirt_.

Damian is going to punch him.

He supposes, because surprise is on his side, he can probably get in two, maybe three punches if he pounces. Before Drake can get his bearings, or Father can drag him off.

But just at the moment where he’s curling his fists, bare feet shifting carefully beneath his weight, Drake takes a quick step forward and pulls him into his arms.

His hug is nothing like Grayson’s.

For one thing, Grayson is broader, and warmer. He’s taller, too. Damian’s head is almost at Drake’s shoulder, instead of halfway down Grayson’s chest.

And Grayson doesn’t cup the back of his head like this, pressing his face into a t-shirt that smells mostly wrong, a little like Grayson but the rest like unscented soap and Drake’s shampoo. 

He can feel Drake’s breath against his hair.

But he still finds himself lifting his arms to hug back, hands gripping tight to the too-big shirt, pressing his face more firmly into the faded pattern at the chest. He squeezes tight enough to feel Drake’s half-sigh, and his eyes start to sting with tears again.

Drake rubs a hand up and down his back, more gentle than Grayson would be. Murmurs, “It’s okay,” just once, the only sign he noticed Damian’s tears, coming hot and fast now.

It is stupid and pathetic and embarrassing, but. Damian doesn’t let go. He doesn’t  _want_ to let go. For minutes, they stand there, in utter silence. Drake still petting his back, calmly, steadily, while Damian just clings.

And it’s a while before, “Dad?” croaked, from the cot.

Wide-eyed, Damian turns, following Drake’s gaze. But Father’s almost at the bed-side already, having rushed from the computer.

He looks into Grayson’s hazy, half-closed blue eyes, and he rumbles, “Hello, Dick. You feeling okay?”

“Dad,” the man whispers, fumbling for Father’s arm. “ _Dad_ , lookit. Did you see.”

His brow is furrowed, confused. But he does take his son’s hand. “What’s wrong, Dickie?”

And a smile breaks out over his too-pale face, when he says, “My li’l baby brothers’re  _hugging_ , B. Finally.”

Drake’s hand stills. And Damian’s grip loosens. His mouth is open.

Father smiles, eyes flicking to where he and Drake stand, and says, “They sure are.” And then, touching his hand to Dick's hair, “How about you get some more sleep, hmm?”

Grayson’s eyelids droop. He’s still smiling. “Yeah,” he says, on a sigh. “Nice’n warm anyway.”

“Okay,” Father agrees, patting his head gently.

“Love you,” Grayson murmurs, but it’s unclear as to who he’s talking to. Knowing that imbecile, it is probably all three of them. And then he’s unconscious again.

Damian lets go of the shirt altogether, scrubbing furiously at his cheeks and ducking his head. 

And Drake at least has the decency to look away.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The nail-painting thing is from a [headcanon](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/20911814786/whenever-any-of-the-boys-gets-injured-seriously) of mine. Because you know Dick would.
> 
> Also on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/77425980608/i-love-your-writing-and-i-think-it-would-be)


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